


If Only He Loved You

by Arriva



Series: Possessions [2]
Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Basically the same premise as If Only She Loved You, Demon!Strand - Freeform, Demonic Possession, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:11:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7351069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arriva/pseuds/Arriva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something's wrong. Alex can't remember the past eight hours, Nic is missing, and Dr. Strand isn't acting like himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Only He Loved You

**Author's Note:**

> Quick clarification: this story does not take place in the same universe as If Only She Loved You. I just decided to lump these two stories into a series since they're pretty much the same concept.
> 
> This also takes place before episode 2.10 because _holy moly_. That episode was a bombshell.

Alex doesn't remember falling asleep.

She certainly doesn't remember getting in Dr. Strand's car.

And she most definitely doesn't remember handcuffing herself to the passenger seat.

She lifts her head, sees an empty stretch of road, and feels the cold metal biting into her wrist. Despite every alarm in her head going off, her initial reaction is relief. Her therapist will be proud of her for getting a few good hours of sleep. But then the splitting headache sets in, along with an aching in her limbs like someone has dragged her through a blender. Does she seriously have a hangover? On a Tuesday?

The only thing she's had to drink is tea.

She's not an idiot; she can tell she's been drugged. The logical conclusion is someone has drugged her. That should scare her, but she can't feel scared. She can't feel much at all. Isn't she supposed to be scared? Perhaps she's experiencing a vivid dream. A new feature of her insomnia. 

Alex looks down at the handcuff then to her surroundings. Strand's car is parked under a bridge. It's foggy outside; the clock reads 6:13 am. No one is in the car with her. She doesn't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Did someone steal Strand's car? If only she could remember. It's hard when everything from the last several hours is a blank. Where was she before this? Through the lost time that she never intended on losing in the first place, Alex pieces together that she was in the studio. Nic was there. Strand was there. Are they still there? Did they notice she'd been taken? They had to. But why hasn't Nic called?

 _Nic._ Nic didn't drink any tea. Can she call Nic? Alex reaches into the pocket of her cardigan and to her relief, feels her cell phone. Whoever took her either didn't notice or didn't care. With her free hand, Alex dials Nic's number.

A couple rings later, she hears it. The muffled sound of "One Way or Another" by Blondie. Nic's ringtone for her. It sounds like... oh god, it sounds like it's coming from the trunk of Strand's car.

Her call goes to voicemail.

"You won't be able to reach him," a familiar deep voice says.

Strand.

Alex nearly drops her phone when she sees him. He's leaning in the doorframe on the driver's side, looking remarkably awake and unharmed. The look on his face is unnerving. It doesn't match up with rest of this scenario. Strand would be helping her out of the car and getting her to safety. Not... studying her.

She has a dozen questions she should be asking in her current situation but only one she can put into words. "Where's Nic?"

"That isn't relevant at the moment," Strand responds.

Up until now, she's felt detached, like she's floating in the back seat of the car and watching herself talk. But something about the flat, emotionless intonation of Strand's voice yanks her back into her body. "Dr. Strand,  _where_ is Nic?"

"Interesting," he says. "You don't call him by his first name."

Panic creeping into her voice, she says, "Where is he?"

Strand glances at the trunk of the car.

She can't breath. The walls of the car are suffocating her, and  _what if Nic can't breathe_. No, he's fine. But she has to go. She has to get out of this car because she feels something terrible has happened to Nic and Strand won't know how to find him and she can't have this again not after the cabin, not after- 

"Ms. Reagan, you need to calm down."

Alex lets out a laugh that borders on hysterical. "Calm down?" She rattles the handcuff. "With  _this_? Why aren't you-"

His hand snaps forward and grabs her by the wrist. "Because if you can't control yourself, I'm going to have to put you in the trunk," he says calmly. He twists, and Alex cries out, her wrist making a popping sound. "There isn't much room back there, and I would like someone to have conversation with for the duration of our trip."

Alex can't think. Not when her wrist feels like it's being splintered apart from the bone. She still manages to look at Strand,  _really_ look at him. Same suit, same glasses, even his touch, rarely felt on her end, feels the same.

But she doesn't recognize him.

"Please," Alex says, blinking back tears. "Dr. Strand, you're hurting me."

He cups her chin with his free hand, forcing her to look right into those cool blue eyes. They look colder today. "Dr. Strand isn't here right now. Do you understand?"

 _No._ She nods feebly.

The intensity of his stare could cut her into ribbons. "I need to hear it from you. Say he's not here."

"He's not here," Alex echoes weakly.

"No one can help you."

"No one-" Her eyes grow wide. "No one can help me."

Just as she can't hold her tears back any longer, he lets go. "You can listen. Good."

He turns the car on and pulls on to the highway. Her wrist is throbbing. Alex brings it to her chest, willing herself to stop crying. She's not passed out; she can handle a sprained wrist. Besides, she doesn't want... whoever's in the car with her to see her like this. She gingerly examines her wrist. It's already swelling, but nothing looks broken. Nonetheless, she can't shake the feeling of Strand's long, slender fingers around her.

Only it's not Strand. She sneaks a look at him. He's got both hands on the wheel, and he's driving precisely at the speed limit. He's unnaturally still. Alex isn't even sure if he's blinking.

She gathers the nerve to ask the statue of a man next to her, "If you aren't Strand, then who are you?"

"You know what I am," he says in that same even tone of voice.

Not who.  _What_. Alex's mind jumps to a conclusion that sounds ridiculous even to her. If Strand were here -well, he  _is_ here- but if were himself and here, he would point out the holes in her farfetched argument. Then she'd point out the holes in his allegedly logical conclusion. Then they'd drive off both slightly irritated with each other. 

She would give anything to have him by her side right now.

"...Demons aren't real," Alex says unconvincingly even by her standards.

"Is that what he told you?" Not Strand says, for the first time showing a modicum of emotion. Alex picks up amusement. He's enjoying this. "Ms. Reagan, do you blindly agree with all of Dr. Strand's beliefs? Or just this one?"

"I don't blindly agree with- what are you saying? That Strand's been lying to me? That you're..." She can't believe she's saying this out loud. "You're a  _demon_?"

Not Strand brakes and pulls onto an exit, ever the model driver. "Dr. Strand has been lying to himself, Ms. Reagan. And consequently to his colleagues. You might call his existence a slowly unraveling lie. Unfortunately for him, the thread is wearing thin." He's silent for a moment. "And yes, I am a demon."

The journalist in Alex is reeling. The rest of her is terrified. Alex forces herself to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. The demon is right. She still can't entirely get behind a demon inhabiting Strand's body, but he is right. No one can help her right now. She can't leave. She can't exorcise Strand. She can't -this one gets to her the hardest- find out where Nic is.

So what  _can_ she do?

Two more breaths.

What she does best: journalism.

While the demon focuses on the road, Alex quietly unlocks her phone and taps the record button. She sets it back in her pocket. "Is Dr. Strand aware that you're possessing his body?"

"To a certain degree," the demon says.

 _Is he okay?_ Too intimate. She swears she had journalism ethics at one point. She tries, "Is this... hurting him?"

The demon huffs out a laugh, a dead-on Strand impersonation. "What makes you think Dr. Strand objects to this arrangement?"

"Dr. Strand is a well-known skeptic," Alex argues. "It makes no sense for him to agree to something he doesn't even believe in."

"And are you confident in that?"

"Should I not be?"

"Ms. Reagan, how well do you know Dr. Strand?" Alex opens her mouth to answer, but the demon adds, "Don't answer just yet. I want you to really think about it. You might think you know him. Given the amount you work together, you might believe you're close to him, closer than all those simple-minded people he's shut out. Those late nights in your office might even fool you into thinking you care about him. That you two have something _special_." Alex's cheeks turn red. "But how much has he really told you? How many times have you had to prod for him for answers, at the cost of your journalistic integrity no less?"

More than she'd care to admit.

Alex is stunned. It'd be so much easier if the demon in Strand's body didn't sound so much like him. But his tone, his mannerisms, even his arguments aren't far from her conversations with Strand. A terrible thought comes to her. What if it's been Strand the entire time? Is he messing with her? Is he testing her beliefs?

No, Alex refuses to entertain that thought. But whoever sitting next to her has a good point.

She takes a deep breath. "I never expected Dr. Strand to give me all the answers," she starts. "My _journalistic integrity_  prepared me for that. Dr. Strand is the subject of my podcast before anything else, including our working relationship. Also, given what he's been through, I would be more concerned if he were _more_ open with me."

"A man who has nothing to hide doesn't behave like him," the demon says.

"Aren't we all hiding things?" He doesn't respond. Alex feels a twinge of satisfaction. He wanted someone to talk to, this is what he's getting. "Besides, I'm aware that Dr. Strand is hiding information from me."

"And you still indulge him," the demon says, derision dripping from each word. "Have you ever thought if any of that information endangers  _you_? I guarantee you wouldn't be here right now if you hadn't made acquaintance with him." And now it is Alex's turn not to respond. "You might fear me, Ms. Reagan, but you haven't seen this man's soul."

A soul. Strand would scoff at the idea. Alex isn't so sure. "Are you saying you have? Is that why you're here?"

"I think that's enough questions, don't you?" the demon says. For the first time since starting the car, he looks directly at her. "Unless you'd like to continue this pitiful excuse you call an interview."

Her hand reaches protectively for her phone, finding it right where she left it. When did he notice? Or has he known this entire time?

Before she can ask, he says, "Now I have a question for _you_ , Ms. Reagan. Why is Dr. Strand keeping you around?"

"What?"

"Why is Dr. Strand keeping you around?" the demon repeats, each syllable clipped impatiently.

"Because... he's the subject of my podcast," Alex responds.

"You've answered a different question. You aren't the first journalist to approach him. But he let you in. He showed you his work. And now, you keep pushing him for answers, he keeps hiding them. It's a lovely little dance you two have going," he says with a hint of sarcasm. "Your interviews have brought into light information I'm keen Dr. Strand wanted to keep private. A point of contention between the two of you, yes?" Alex doesn't comment. "So what does he stand to benefit?" His hands tighten around the wheel. "You know what I feel most from this body?"

At this point, the corners of Strand's mouth turn upward. It's the smallest change in facial expression, but the demon's look of sheer  _bliss_ forced upon Strand's faceis unnerving.

"Hatred. Pure human hatred."

He's lying.

Or Strand is lying.

She doesn't know which one.

"It always baffles me, the way humans hate," the demon muses. "You base your hatred on circumstance. Certain people. Certain places. It's needlessly muddied by your attachments to this world. Dr. Strand is no different, no matter how hard he tries to be."

"Am I supposed to take your word for all this? How do I know you aren't making this all up?" Alex says.

"You don't. Not that it matters at this point. We're almost there."

Alex looks out the window at the empty road. Pine trees fly past them only to get buried by the fog. The demon mentioned a trip earlier. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere he hates very much," the demon says cryptically.

A few minutes later, he pulls over into a gas station with boarded up windows and faded paint. The lights are all off, including the cracked neon Open sign. Alex doubts this place has been open in years.

The fog is thicker now.

The demon gets out of Strand's car and walks around to the passenger side. He throws the door open, forcing Alex to stumble out of the car. He unlocks the handcuff. There's a brief moment where Alex thinks she can run to the other side of the car, hop in, and drive away from this madness. But right as the idea forms, he grabs her arm and pulls her toward the gas station.

Suddenly, he twists her arm behind her back, causing her to cry out. She's pinned right against him. She can even feel his breath on her shoulder. The gas station lies before them in all its derelict glory. "Well, Ms. Reagan? Have you figured out where we are yet?"

Alex squints at the structure, as if that'll somehow be the thing that makes her figure it out. She can't focus. Not with the aching in her head, not with the pain in her wrist, and especially not with Strand's body pressed up against hers.

"I-I don't know."

"I'll give you a hint," he whispers down her neck. "He hasn't been here in nearly twenty years."

The answer hits her like a car speeding down the highway.

"Coralee."

This is where ithappened.

Alex shivers. Maybe the air is colder. Maybe there's a ghost in their presence. At this point it's not far of a stretch.

"The last place he saw her," the demon says with a twisted sort of reverence. "For all we know, he could have been the last person to see her alive. What do you suppose went through his head in the moments before she started walking? Do you think he was happy when she didn't come back?"

"I don't think that at all," Alex says. She's shaking now.

"I respectfully disagree. But we could reminisce on the past all day. I think Dr. Strand would appreciate a more  _interactive_ approach." He steers her away from the gas station toward the side of the road. "I'm certain you remember this part of the story."

How could she forget? There's nothing special about the road ahead of them. Dozens of cars probably drive past it each day. None of them would know what happened here. What Alex knows about that day in 1997 plays out before her like an old movie. She can picture Coralee a few feet ahead of her, walking into the fog and never coming back. Was it foggy the day she disappeared? How long did Strand wait before going after her? At what point did he stop looking?

And why has the demon brought here here?

"As soon as I let go of you, you're going to start walking," the demon says. "If you stop, I will hurt you. If you turn around, I will hurt you. And before I depart this husk of a vessel, I will make sure your broken body is the first thing Dr. Strand sees. Do you understand?"

Alex can't see him. She can only hear his voice. Only it's  _Strand's_ voice. She stammers out, "I-I understand. Please let go of me."

And he does. Without even the smallest push. Alex starts to walk slowly. She wonders if he's following her or watching her disappear into the fog. The latter would be a fitting parallel to Coralee's disappearance. She keeps her eyes focused on the yellow line of the road. Will she meet whatever caused Coralee to disappear? Has that been the demon's motive the entire time?

In the fog, something moves. Alex almost freezes but remembers the demon's warning. She keeps walking.

When she doesn't hear him behind her, Alex quickly pulls her phone out and turns the recorder off. The "Low Power" window flashes. She curses herself. One percent battery.

Before she can figure out who to call with one percent left, her phone starts ringing. Unknown number. Is this the demon again? Is he testing her somehow? But her battery's almost dead, and this might be her only chance to call for help. She hesitantly accepts the call and puts her phone to her ear.

"Alex?" a frantic voice says. "Alex? Are you there?"

She knows that voice.

"Nic!"

She almost breaks down right there on the road. Her words come out in a rush of panic and relief. "My phone's about to die and my wrist is sprained and there's something wrong with Strand and I was so scared that something had happened to you but you're fine,  _you're alive_ -"

"Alex, Alex, stay calm," Nic says. Hearing his voice is like having a warm blanket over her shoulders. "We're coming to get you. But what  _the hell_ is going on with Strand?"

"Strand's not himself," Alex says quickly.

"I gathered that much."

Through short gasps and Nic exclaiming, "He did  _what_?" Alex fills him in on her demonic road trip. "But are you okay?" she says. "I called your phone, and when I heard it in the trunk I thought..."

"Yeah, I'm fine." A pause. "Well... my head's bleeding, but _other_ than that, I'm fine." Another pause. "Strand- or Demon Strand clocked me with a stapler. Next thing I knew, he was dumping me under a bridge somewhere."

"Is she doing okay?" a muffled voice in the background says. "Ask where she is."

"I'm at the gas station where Coralee disappeared."

"Jesus, another missing person?" the other voice says wearily. "You're gonna have to clarify which gas station."

"It's okay, Geoff, I know where it is," Nic says. Alex presumes Geoff is the one who's driving. Or hopes. "Okay, we're on the way. Just hang tight, don't use your phone unless you have to, and _stay away-_ "

Nic's voice cuts off. Alex allows herself to feel afraid, if only for a second. It feels someone cut off her hand. She limply puts her dead cell phone back in her pocket. The fog on the road has let up a little bit, but not enough for her to hail down any passing cars. Or see any passing cars. She does see an empty beer bottle on the ground, so she grabs it. With a bad wrist, there's only so much she can do, but the bottle makes her feel slightly more in control.

Something moves again. This one's in her peripheral. It looks like long, spindly fingers brushing through the fog. Or maybe that's apophenia. Strand would say it was apophenia. She keeps walking. If she can just get to a rest stop, borrow a phone-

She hears something behind her. It sounds like footsteps. Fast. _Getting closer._

Alex spins around, the demon's instructions the last thing on her mind. She holds the bottle over her head, poised to strike. Any second now. If it's him, she'll smash the bottle over his head. She'll do it. She swears to herself that she'll do it.

A familiar face breaks through the fog. 

"Stay away from me!" she screams.

Strand or the demon inhabiting Strand stops at the sound of her voice. His eyes are wide and darting around the edges of the fog. His eyes finally land on her. "Why are we here?" His voice sounds small, smaller than she's ever heard it.

What if it's another trick?

"Who am I speaking to?" she says, her voiced ragged. He frowns, like he doesn't understand how language works. "Answer me!"

"Richard," he says, still sounding unsure of himself.

Alex keeps the bottle raised. "You're lying. You're pretending to be Strand to mess with my head!"

Something snaps him out of his trance. He says, "Messing with  _your_ head? You're the one who brought me to the place where my  _wife_ disappeared!"

"I didn't bring you, you were the one who-" Alex falters. That tone. There is only one person who can sound that grumpy. She lowers the bottle. Strand eyes her warily. "You don't remember, do you?"

"I don't..." Strand trails off. His eyes go wide again and a look of shock spreads over his face. A tremor goes through his body that sends him crashing to his knees. "Oh god. I..."

His mouth hangs open as if everything he has to say has flown right out of him. Alex's adrenaline rush starts to wear off . All the aches and pains of the morning start coming back to her. She doesn't know how possession works, but from Jessica Wheldon's interview, coming down from it sounds horrifying.

She can't imagine what Strand is going through right now.

"Dr. Strand?" He doesn't respond. "Richard?"

"I thought you were gone too."

So that's why the demon brought her here.

The bottle drops from her hand, shattering onto the asphalt. Broken glass crunches beneath her feet as she approaches Strand. She kneels down and hesitantly reaches for his hand. His grasp is limp, but she gently squeezes his hand. "I'm still here."

Strand releases a sigh. His fingers intertwine with hers. He notices the swelling on her one wrist and the ring of raw, red skin on the other. "I hurt you."

"You didn't do this," Alex says firmly.

But his hands did. It was his voice that said he'd hurt her. Part of her still wants to tear her hand away from his and run.

She won'tthough. Strand's cautiously delicate grip on her hand gives her confidence in that. Alex instinctively pulls him closer, and he melts in her embrace. He buries his head in her shoulder, hanging onto her like an anchor. He is completely silent, but Alex knows better. She can feel her shirt getting damp.

Her conversation with the demon plays over in her head. One part of it gnaws at her. She afraid to ask, but she has to know.

"Do you hate me?"

"No." Despite his head being buried in her shoulder, there's no hesitation in his response. She feels his body press into hers, and she realizes he's trembling. "I never..." He can't finish. Alex doesn't need him to. She knows. She runs her fingers through Strand's hair, the best comfort she can offer at this point.

And one more thing: "I don't hate you either."

She can't say she's not afraid of him.

**Author's Note:**

> This needs major editing, but I wanted to get it out before I go on vacation! Hope it's still readable!


End file.
